


Certainty

by knightenchanted



Series: Trespasser and Beyond [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amputation, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightenchanted/pseuds/knightenchanted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following her encounter with Solas, Evelyn must come to terms with the consequences of the Mark and the uncertain future that lays ahead of her.</p><p>Takes place between the encounter with Solas and the decision of the Inquisiton's fate (Trespasser Spoilers!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certainty

_Live well, while time remains._

Evelyn remains crouched on the ground, having neither the energy nor the will to chase after Solas as he turns his back to her to cross through the Eluvian. She can only stare in stunned disbelief as the revelation of his plans sinks in. Alone, with only the sounds of a distant creek accompanying her, she cradles her arm and sits back on her thighs, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. 

Evelyn examines her arm. The skin puckers with craters of angry welts, and red twisting tendrils that mimic her veins mar the entirety of her forearm, stopping just short of her elbow. The Mark had seen fit to punish her with the scars of fire and lightning. 

Solas was true to his word - he had removed the Anchor, and in doing so, prevented the Mark from killing her. The lacerating pain that had been building up over the past few days is gone, replaced by a numbness that frightens her even more. She tries flexing her fingers but to no avail. In panicked experimentation, she touches one of the blistering welts with her other hand, and while she expects to yelp in pain, she feels nothing. A phantom arm, and a ghoulish sight to match. For a moment, she wishes she could feel the pain again if it meant she could feel _anything._

She does not know how long she remains sitting there staring at her useless limb. Her reverie is only broken when the sound of movement behind her disturbs the silence. She spares the intruders no glance, the heavy footsteps of Bull, the metal clinking of Cassandra’s mail and the crackle of lightning from Dorian’s staff all too telling.

“Evelyn, thank the Maker you are alright!”

“Did you see what happened to the Viddasala? Frozen in stone like those other Qunari! If it’s demons again I say we get out of here as quick as we can.”

“Evelyn, the Mark-“ Dorian stops short as he approaches Evelyn’s side, still slumped on the ground, nursing her arm.

“It’s gone,” Evelyn replies numbly. “The Mark is gone, my arm is gone, Solas…is gone.”

“What did Solas do? Where did he go?”                

She steels herself. The pain now subsided, the recollection of their encounter begins to conjure up a bitter anger laid dormant by the fear of the Mark's uncontrollable nature.

“We were wrong. He isn’t the agent of Fen’Harel – he _is_ Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. The Breach, the Orb, my Mark – all orchestrated by him.” Her voice begins to shake, fury escalating. “An Elven God by our side this whole time, how could we be so _blind?_ He always seemed to  _know_ things he had no way of knowing: the Veil, the Fade, and the Elven Gods. And his _constant_ disdain for the Dalish. The _Lord of Tricksters_ by our side this whole time, and _we_ were his fools.”

The reaction of her companions vary from gasps to swears, but they let Evelyn continue. Her right hand seeks a tether, and it finds the soft grass beneath her.

“He took the Anchor off me to give me more _time._ How much time did he give me really, when he plans to destroy our world? All for a past he longs to return to. What about _us_? What about _our future_?”

Evelyn rips the grass from the ground beneath her hand, as she holds the tears back. When they had first arrived at the Exalted Council, Evelyn’s only uncertainty about the future came with the uncertain fate of the Inquisition. She touches the gold ring resting on its chain against her chest, thankful she had the sense to move it from its expected place on her left hand, and for Cullen's refusal to keep the ring as a preemptive memento of her. When Cullen had asked her to marry him and she became his _wife_ , that was one certainty in her future she could hold on to. Then the Mark had begun to flare with uncontrollable pain, sparking the fear for her life, but also a determination stronger than ever to keep going, to protect the people of Thedas, and to give Cullen a chance at a future – even if that one did not include her.

But now, a part of her is gone forever and an Elven God wants to destroy her world for a mistake he made centuries ago. For the first time in many years, she is truly afraid that she can see nothing but the unknown ahead of her. 

Evelyn wants to burn the floating island, to channel her rage until it no longer scorches her from the inside. Instead, her tears begin to fall. She has held them back at every moment they dared to fall in the Exalted Council, for the Inquisitor cannot show weakness so long as the world finds every reason to tear them down. But here, with only her companions by her side in support, she has no shame in letting the tears show.

Dorian pulls Evelyn tightly into a hug, as her body racks with sobs. At some point, she knows she has to return to the Winter Palace and face the Exalted Council with her Inquisitor’s mask back on, but for this small reprieve away from prying eyes, Evelyn needs her anguish to be known.

***

Cullen paces restlessly by the mirror, as the guard nearest him watches with increasing discomfort. Evelyn and her team have been gone for a few hours now, Cullen spending much of that time preparing the security detail of the Winter Palace should the Qunari attack. But that possibility meant that Evelyn had failed, and he could not think, could not _imagine_ Evelyn not returning. _You will come back,_ he had said. The first time he had uttered these words to her before the battle with Corypheus and she _had_ come back. _I have luck on my side, remember?_ He hopes the Maker is kind enough to grant her that luck twice.

Cullen resigns with sitting on a barrel, lest the poor guards begin worrying about _him_. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, its familiarity lending him strength. His mabari senses his unease and rises from its resting place in the corner of the room to nuzzle his knee. Cullen strokes the beast’s head as it whines affectionately, licking Cullen’s hand and the gold ring on his finger. The whine deflates into a sob, and Cullen knows he is worried about Evelyn too.

“I know pup, but she _will_ come back.” Whether these words are for his own benefit or pup’s, Cullen doesn’t know.

It isn’t much later when pup perks his ears and barks at the mirror, bringing everyone in the room to attention. The mirror begins to shimmer as one by one, four figures emerge. Four very weary, yet very much alive figures.

Cullen stands abruptly and rushes to the emerging figures. Cassandra leads the group and announces, “It is over. The Qunari pose no threat anymore.”

Everyone collectively breathes a sigh of relief, but Cullen still seeks Evelyn’s face, needing to know she is alright. His heart lurches as he spots Dorian with his arms around her shoulders, Evelyn looking more defeated than triumphant. Cullen’s eyes meet Dorian’s and gives him a wordless thanks. Dorian nods before whispering in Evelyn’s ear. She turns to smile at him and pecks him on the cheek.

Out of the guidance of Dorian’s arms, Evelyn finds Cullen’s face amongst the crowd. Her eyes soften at the sight of him, but the smile she gives him is worn and does not quite reach her eyes. Still, she seeks his arms and accepts his fierce embrace. Evelyn returns the embrace, her right arm tightening around his waist and her head nestles itself in his neck as she sighs, exhausted and relieved. Cullen kisses the top of her head, committing the smell and warmth of her to memory. She is alive, and in that moment, that is all that matters to him. 

“You came back.”

“Not all of me.”

Cullen pulls apart from her, and notices her left hand. It dangles by her side limply, the flashes of green from earlier gone. Evelyn says nothing, but her eyes carry a weight of loss and sorrow that halts him from asking further.

“Let’s retire to your chambers.”

Evelyn nods and accepts his arm around her back, guiding her out of the room – away from the mirror and all that had transpired through it. Cullen needs to know what happened, but for now, it's enough that she is alive and in his arms once again.      .

***

Evelyn lays back on her ornate Orlesian bed with Cullen on her right, holding her hand in his. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine that it’s just the two of them in her chambers, sitting comfortably together on the bed where they first joined as man and wife. But the numbness in her left arm pulls her back out of her daydream, and she glances at the necrotic limb that Dorian turns in his examination. Vivienne stands over his shoulder peering at the arm and then back at her. Rarely has she seen Vivienne regard anyone with such concern.

“My dear, there is no easy way to say this. The Anchor has indeed been removed, but the damage it did to your arm is…permanent. The lack of flowing blood, and the fact you can not feel nor move it means the nerves must be affected as well. Even with our combined healing magic, neither Dorian or I can repair your arm to the condition it was before…minus the Mark.”

Dorian shoots her a sympathetic look before adding to the already bleak diagnosis she was expecting.

“There’s another issue. Should the limb remain it may be prone to infection, and in doing so, infect the surrounding living tissue. As much as I am sure some members of the Exalted Council want you removed, they would be absolutely devastated to hear the Inquisitor dying of something so banal as an  _infection_. I would recommend we remove the damaged part of your arm to prevent such an anti-climactic way of death. If you need time-“

“No, do it now. We have little time before the Council expects us and I suspect not showing up to the hearing would also result in my death anyway,” Evelyn says drily. Their news comes as no surprise to her, even one without medical knowledge could see the arm was better removed. She had a few hours to contemplate the loss of her arm, and it was better for the matter to be resolved sooner rather than later. She turns away from Dorian to face Cullen, who squeezes her hand – the only one she can still feel – reassuringly.

“If you are sure my dear, but-“

“I am. It would not do well for the Inquisitor to be late to a Council meeting, Madame de Fer.”

“As you wish, we will arrange the necessary equipment to complete the operation.”

Evelyn keeps her gaze on Cullen, who leans his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Me too.”

***

Evelyn does not scream during the ordeal, she does not need to when there is no pain to feel. Physical, at least. Even so, she cannot watch the process of her arm being taken from her. She turns away from the procedure, trying to focus on anything except the tight band above her elbow. Cullen’s warm eyes meet her as he strokes the back of her other hand with his thumb. Yes, he is here, not all is loss.

She hears Dorian preparing her to get ready, but she tries to drown his words with other memories, ones that are filled with happiness. _Tomas’ suppressed laugh as they hide behind the wall as their sister stalks after them furiously_. _The first time she learnt to use her magic with control. Lydia’s commendation of her as an Enchanter_. Something smells off, the smell bringing tears into her eyes and she squeezes them as tightly as she can. _The warmth of Cullen’s arms after Haven_. She hears the sound of something hitting bone. _Their first kiss_. Another grating sound. _The first time they made love._ Another, accompanying a shifting in the bed and an apology from Dorian. _Reuniting after the battle with Corypheus._ She feels the movement of the bed stop and the tightness of the band in her arm becomes a single point of focus, blinding and searing like she is being branded. Evelyn grips Cullen’s hands like he is her anchor. _Cullen asking her to marry him. Cullen reciting his vows to her. The night they made love as husband and wife._ The off smell begins to congeal into the smell of burnt flesh, and the acrid scent fills the air. Evelyn’s stomach churns as she threatens to wretch, but she must endure, she is almost there. _The morning after when they promised to stay together, no matter what happens in the future._

She is sure she has run out of tears now, just as she has run out of memories to distract her from the sounds, smells and pain in the room. Thankfully, she hears Cullen murmur gently in her ear that it’s over, and she buries herself into his neck as she feels the band loosen and someone bandaging her arm – or whatever is left of it.

“You did wonderfully, darling. The arm should not trouble you in future.”

“We did the best we could. I must say if anyone in Tevinter needed a limb removed, I could certainly consider revoking my Magister title to pursue my new calling.”

Evelyn peels her head away from Cullen to give a shaky laugh.

“Thank you, both of you. I mean it. Maker knows I was never one for healing magic and procedures.  I would just like some time alone with Cullen, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, darling. Do get some rest tonight, you have done more than enough to deserve it," assures Vivienne. 

“And you as well, Vivienne," Evelyn responds. 

With an incline of her head, Vivienne rises from her chair to exit Evelyn's chambers. If she has any indication of exhaustion, she is doing well to hide the signs. As the trail of Vivienne’s robes disappear through the doorway, Dorian stands as well, though he lingers, giving her a concerned look.

“How are you, really, Evelyn?”

“I won’t lie, the smell of burning flesh wasn’t pleasant and it will take me time to adjust to my new…lack of limb. But I will manage, I always do,” Evelyn tries to sound confident but her voice begins to crack, and she tries to keep hold of the fragile pane of her emotions.

Dorian places a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, not quite believing her dismissal, but accepting it anyway. 

“If you need anything, you need only use my sending crystal.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary in such short distances, Dorian.”

“And pass up the opportunity to use my thoughtful gift? I’m rather insulted, Evelyn.”

“Ahh and we can’t have that can we, Magister Pavus? Very well, I should consider using your gift. It would be a good way to test if the thing _actually_ works. I wouldn’t want you to depart to Tevinter only to realise I’ll never get to hear your velvety voice again.”

Dorian gives a throaty laugh, and she smiles genuinely. Dorian squeezes her shoulder and nods to Cullen before leaving her chambers. Only Cullen and Evelyn remain. The room has never felt so large.

Evelyn relents in looking at the remains of her arm, having put off doing so for as long as possible. A lump in her throat develops as she stares at the sight. The hand and forearm that was there is gone, the end of her upper arm bandaged to conceal the stump that remains. A part of her is gone forever, and if she is being honest, it feels like she had lost the part of herself that mattered most to others. Does she even deserve to be called the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste anymore? Perhaps the Exalted Council has no reason to fear the Inquisition now with the Mark that gave its leader their power gone.

“Evelyn.”

Cullen’s calm voice interrupts her thoughts. He has not once let go of her hand during the ordeal, and not once left her side after she told him what became of her arm. She thumbs the gold band on his hand, and she absently realises she will never again wear her ring in its rightful place.

“I’ll miss wearing it. I’ll miss doing a lot of things. I probably won’t be able to dress myself or tie up my hair. I’ll probably be stuck writing letters all day because at least I can still do _that._ Josephine still has some use for me yet,” she scoffs, but her bitterness masks the sadness she is determined to cage.

Cullen remains quiet before he kisses her hand and proceeds to remove the ring from the chain of her neck. He slips the ring reverently, as he did during their wedding, on the fourth finger on her right hand. He does the same with his own.

“I know, but you’ll find a way through it - you always do, and I will be there to help you along the way. That’s one of my duties as your husband, isn’t it?”

She laughs despite the tears gathering in her eyes. Years ago she never expected to be loved so deeply by someone, and now, she could never imagine a life without the love and support Cullen gave her.

“I’m sure watching your wife get her arm amputated is not how you expected us to spend our honeymoon.”

He chuckles at that. “I left all pretense of a _normal_ honeymoon when a Qunari plot interrupted us.”

“Yes, it seems Orlais really has a way of making life miserable for you. It must be punishment for the thousands of hearts you broke when you no longer became Fereldan’s most eligible bachelor.”

“I can’t say that Orlais is _all_ too bad. Where else can you find a wedding dress and a revered mother to marry us in a few hours?”

Evelyn nods as she smiles at the memory. Though the impromptu wedding was more hurried and private than she envisioned, she was glad Cullen had asked her on impulse. If he hadn’t, she imagines they would have put it off indefinitely, as something would always threaten their moments of peace. In the end, just she, Cullen and the promise of devotion and commitment was enough, as it always had been.

Evelyn turns away from Cullen and stares at the filigree carved into the ceiling of her room. She had come to associate the elegant patterns with the many mornings where she woke up sated in Cullen’s arms, pretending there was no war outside their room.  Back then, it was a dream they both envisioned: a future where they would wake up every morning as husband and wife, and not have to worry about the uncertainty of tomorrow.

With the loss of her arm and the revelation of Solas’ plans, she wonders how many more days she would really have to relive that dream.

“Things will change now.”

“I know.”

“No, Cullen, not just for me, but for us, and for all of Thedas. I need to know that one thing won’t change, I need to know with _certainty_ that there will still be an ‘ _us’_ \- no matter what comes.”

Evelyn vaguely realises she is quoting Sera. The Inquisition – and her friends - have changed her over the years, but it’s a change she welcomes. It reminds her of another decision she dreads to make.

Cullen grips her hand tightly in his, and turns Evelyn to face him. He looks at her with soft adoration, the same look he gave her when he made his vows in front of the Maker. Evelyn wants to be looked upon that way forever, to know that she would never have to face the world alone.

“I vowed to the Maker and Andraste that I would love you for the rest of my days. And I mean it, Evelyn. Whatever comes, I will be by your side – always.”

Evelyn’s tears threaten to escape again, but this time from happiness. Cullen leans in to kiss her, gentle at first, as if he is afraid to hurt her in her delicate state. Evelyn fights his gentleness, she needs to turn her pain into passion, and her loss into love she returns two-fold. She is too tired to do much more than return his kiss, but she pours as much of her relief, joy and _love_ into that kiss.

Yes, she mourns the loss of her arm, but another part of her remembers that without it, without the Mark, she has a chance at a future with Cullen. She would gladly trade that part of her to remain a part of his life. And she vows that even without her arm, she will do whatever it takes to stop Solas, to ensure the certainty of their future together.


End file.
